We writers unburden ourselves to get to that place –
the vein of plenty.
But the daffodil still stands and the gorse continues to bloom
coconut on the air.
And the wind she howls,
the hailstones plip and plop.
The rushes dance and the wind revs up, shaking the bald
Then a hush.
Gentle trickle of Lough Mask and the birds come out to play.
The wind across the lough, fish shoals and the sway of the
Trickles by the lakeside, rhythmic.
The glug and gulp through the bored limestone.
Lake music and the valley of waves seeking land.
Ruts and gulley, troughs, and I’m thinking how much it soothes me Mom.
The land and rocks pounded and caressed over the decades to soft.
These spring agitator waves and foam bring you home to me.
Mother’s Day 2017
And I was thinking
Mother’s Day was like
you didn’t want to celebrate.
Then after 4pm pictures of
cherry blossoms, tulips and bluebells.
Eleven daffodils tied in blue.
You’d been strolling in sunny Dublin.
For your mother and my mother.
One for each of her children.
Daughter, it’s a Mother’s Day I’ll never forget.